Last night I went to hear Rose Solari read at Riverby Books. I like her work, and I particularly like her reading style--clear voice, engaging intros, and never going over time. She read a Dionysus poem I enjoyed, and later found in the Innisfree Poetry Journal:
Dionysus would slap you silly
if he could see you now--sniffing
and twirling and sipping and, dear god,
spitting it out. What mortal arrogance,
the mess you've made of his gift. Now,
let's start over. Throw back your head
and drain this puny glass with one loud gulp.
Then send--no, roar--for a cup carved
out of animal horn, deep enough that
when you reach the bottom, you'll see
two horns, two hands, two mouths. Then
you'll be worthy to grab the woman
on your left--who feels, as you do, now,
the rush of sweet blood to the brain and to
the thighs--and put your grape-stained mouth
to hers. We are, all of us, nothing more
than empty vessels that the god can fill
with his heart-made, heart-poured wine. Drink,
you fool, and love. Become divine.
I just had word that my title poem from the book, "Theories of Falling," will appear in the Winter issue of the incomparable journal Barrow Street. Hooray! They also took "August," which is on the last page. Funny how those orphan poems nag at you--I'm very grateful they found a good home at last.